


Unconventional Modifications

by caprigender



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Other, Robot Sex, Second Person Present Tense, hand kink i guess?, wireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11174961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprigender/pseuds/caprigender
Summary: In any universe with robots there's going to be at least one person who has figured out how to have sex with the robots.K2 wants some interesting modifications, Cassian is more than a little embarrassed, and you have some unfortunate local fame





	Unconventional Modifications

“He wants... modifications, I heard you were the one to see about that”

The man’s name is Cassian Andor and you recognize him almost immediately. He's kind of a legend in your section of the rebel alliance, not for the impressive mission track record or his piloting skills but for the same reason that seems to be what brought him to you right now. He’s the only person you know of for sure who’s ever reprogrammed an imperial droid. Sure, there have been rumors and legends and the galaxy is so large and has so many people in it that you figure it’s entirely possible someone else has managed it, but you’ve only got one instance with undeniable proof. It’s damn impressive. The coding work alone is a headache and a half and the imperials never skimp on their protective measures. Then there’s the fact that in order to reprogram these droids you have to subdue them first, defeat them without destroying them just to get access to the inner workings. You glance over Cassian’s shoulder at the seven maybe eight foot tall enforcer droid, matte black and still decked out in imperial sigils. You feel a shiver run down your spine. That couldn’t have been an easy fight, probably not one you would have been able to walk away from.

Of course, that’s not saying much, you aren’t exactly the fighting type. Sure, you had basic blaster training, but you could count on one hand the number of times you’d ever had to use that knowledge. You were essentially useless in a fight, but you knew construction and repairs and lucky for you the resistance needed more than just soldiers so they welcomed you on as a droid specialist. The work was stressful and you’d moved multiple times as the base of operations migrated to stay off the Empire’s radar but you felt like you were accomplishing something worthwhile and you had enough extra time to pursue personal projects. Word about those projects must have spread faster than you’d expected for someone like Cassian Andor to be seeking you out about them, though you suppose it is his job to know things before anyone else does.

He’s smooth and calm on the surface but there’s an edge to it, a hidden jumpy nervousness running just underneath. He keeps glancing around the busy hangar, voice low as if someone might be listening in. No one’s listening in, of course, they're all going about their business like normal, but his attitude puts you on edge as well. You're not sure exactly what he’s worried about and it’s that uncertainty that really rattles you. Maybe it’s embarrassment, he doesn’t want word to get out that he needs help with a droid he reprogrammed. Maybe it’s just a spywork habit. You hope it's just a spywork habit. You’re not sure you could handle it if you brought him back to your workshop and he began telling you about the new covert mission ops only you were qualified for. You hide your own anxiety with a convincing smile and gesture for them to follow you.

The droid specialist workshops were scattered all throughout the Yavin 4 Rebel Alliance base. Yours was hidden at the end of a winding hallway of cold stone walls and faint emergency lighting. “Follow the thick red mesh electrical cables until you find the room that’s all lit up and looks like a junkyard” you sometimes told clients who didn’t know where to take their droids, “if I’m not there you found someone else’s workshop and they could probably give you better directions than I can.” It wasn’t uncommon for people to come looking for you specifically to repair a droid or take a look at some other important and sensitive machinery, you were known around the base for some pretty creative modifications of many types, scanner enhancements, communications arrays, toasters and tape deck additions. You motion the two of them into your personal workshop, a smaller alcove of the room you used for official business, partitioned off with crates and projection screens.

“Alright,” you settle down on a crate and turn to your new potential customers. The captain is still anxious and the towering droid behind him is still very intimidating, but you already feel much better within the familiar walls of your workspace. “So, you obviously know who I am and I know Captain Andor already. But you,” you point to the droid, “K-X unit, am I right?”

“K-2SO.” The droid offers in Basic. You note the undercurrent of electronic distortion and hint of a core worlds accent. “Do you want the full serial number? It's K-2SO-58E-”

“We just call him K2,” Cassian interrupts. It’s more nervous than rude, like he’s trying to get to the point but he’s having a bit of a difficult time with it. “we heard you were the one to talk to about... unconventional modifications?”

You spread your arms out in a grand gesture, framed on all sides by the junk and clutter of all your “unconventional modifications.” It probably doesn’t look quite as impressive as you feel, but that’s unimportant in the moment. “You got the right sources, spymaster. So, what mods are you looking for?”

It doesn’t look like he was expecting that question, like maybe he thought that “unconventional” was enough of a descriptor. It isn’t, or it really shouldn’t be. You’re beginning to piece together a reason why he might be acting strangely, though and your eyes flick between the two of them as Captain Andor gathers his thoughts. You feel an uneasy fluttering in your chest. An enforcer droid for those kind of modifications? Really? You feel the heat rush to your face as you focus back in on what Cassian is saying. You really shouldn’t make any assumptions about your clients before they explicitly lay down exactly what they want. Hell, for all you know he may actually be very nervous about ordering a toaster implant for his new imperial enforcer droid buddy.

“Well, you’re the mechanic…” he starts and hesitates a moment. “Aren’t you the mechanic who does the… we heard-”

“We heard you're the resident droid fucker.”

Right, so they probably weren’t here for the toaster function after all.

[...]

K2 did not feel nervous. He had the capacity to feel nervous, though his circuitry was not exactly predisposed toward that feeling like it could be in other droids, but he felt just as calm as ever. He had access to the Rebel Alliance’s repairs and maintenance database and he’d looked up your track record. It was acceptable, impressive even. True, the database didn't cover the success rate of your hobby projects, but K2SO felt confident in his extrapolated calculations of your skill. The odds of failure were low. The implications of success were enticing.

He wonders if having his chassis open and someone digging around in his internal mechanics while he's still online should be unsettling. He doesn't feel unsettled. His chest plate lays on the floor to his right, cut into large chunks and removed surprisingly tenderly. It's not the one he was equipped with in the factory at Mechis III, that one had been damaged in a fire fight back when he was still property of the empire. A shot from a Duros smuggler had melted a hole the size of his fist in the lower left side of the armor. There had been minimal internal damages and he was able to reroute power flow to necessary systems for the remainder of the incident but once it was all over they’d sent him to maintenance and shut him down for the repairs. He gazes down at you as you work and wonders if this isn’t inefficient and potentially hazardous to both of you. Your hands work carefully and precise, but the circuitry is live and he has self preservation protocols that may or may not recognize mechanical tinkering as necessary and acceptable harm.

Almost as if cued by that thought K2 feels a jolt as your fingers twist a set of wires he cannot see but feels intensely for a moment. You yelp and let out a curse, pulling your hand out of his chest and shaking it in pain. Without prompting, this new information is shuffled into his statistics, estimating possible outcomes and their likelihood.

“That was clumsy.” He comments. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Of course, he knows the answer to this question. The odds of you getting to this position and so highly recommended without having an extensive understanding of a great many droid types were negligible. He asks anyways.

You glance up at him with your finger in your mouth, a weird organic habit used to mitigate pain from some injuries or to stimulate other psychological effects. Strange. You watch him for a moment with a look he cannot quite place and when you do speak you don’t answer his question directly. “It’s weird how similar you are to Arakyd line protocol droids. I’ve worked on other enforcer and military type droids before but none of them were set up internally like you are. There’s a lot more similarities to their RA-7 line…”

It’s a diversion and he doesn’t appreciate it. “So you know what you’re doing? I would hate to think I’ve been handed over to an incompetent mechanic.” 

You smirk, then pull a small tool out of a pocket on your belt and lean in so he can’t see your face anymore, just the top of your head and the muscles of your back working. “Yeah, I know what I’m doing.” K2 isn’t entirely convinced.

“I’m not entirely convinced,” he says.

He hears a muffled laugh and feels another errant jolt of electricity. Unbelievable. He instinctively recalculates potential for failure and finds it still within the acceptable limits for now. “You know,” you say with a hint of a smile in your voice, “you’re being surprisingly rude to someone who’s trying to give you the ability to orgasm.”

K2 doesn’t think he’s being rude, but then again, he isn’t a protocol droid, no matter the internal similarities that might be at work. “Well it certainly seems to be taking you long enough. How long do these kinds of alterations usually take to figure out? You aren’t getting paid by the hour after a-” he shudders as an unfamiliar sensation rushes through his systems and eventually dissipates. Unfamiliar but not unpleasant. The recalculations and cost benefit analysis finish swiftly. “Do that again.”

You chuckle but a moment later he feels the charge rushing through him again, stronger this time. “That’s what I thought,” you hum to yourself, “This is generally pretty close to where I’d put an instant over-centre switch in one of the Arakyd protocol droids. Looks like the similarities don’t stop with how chatty you are.”

Now that’s a little rude, he decides, rude and unfair. He doesn’t have as much control over his communication processors anymore, not since the reprogramming. “Are you saying I talk too much?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘too much’, but you definitely talk a lot.” There’s a pressure on some internal mechanisms for a moment and then another small jolt. K2 feels hazy and tries to hold on to his indignation. “It’s not a bad thing, though. I definitely prefer a little conversation to complete silence.” Another pause, more tinkering, another spark. “Your friend seemed like he was in a real hurry to get out of here.”

K2 can’t seem to get his thoughts in the right order. A pleasant fuzzy static feeling wraps around his circuits. He struggles to think of a response. “Cassian is embarrassed.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. So, is this a way for you to both get something out of a physical relationship? Cause if you’re trying to interface with organics that’s entirely possible and we can even get you some specialized equipment for it, but you might want to get a particular partner’s input first.”

It takes him a moment to parse out the meaning and implications of your statement. It shouldn’t have taken as long as it does but everything feels confused. Your hands keep working inside his chest and he can’t see them but he can feel them almost constantly now. Or more accurately, he can feel their effects twisting the pathways in his systems, finding feedback loops that are slowly building and breaking his concentration. He considers your words. His overtaxed processors run countless unlikely simulations of Cassian spread out before him, Cassian moving under his hands, Cassian feeling whatever intense sensations K2 was feeling now. Unlikely. Unlikely but not unwelcome.

“No,” he struggled to explain as the pulses grew in intensity. “No, Cassian and I aren’t… what do you mean specialized equipment?”

You laugh again. K2 isn’t sure how he feels about that sound. It’s rude, makes him feel strange, sends shudders through him like the twisting of your fingers. “The most basic attachment is a Stimulation Box, you run any input through that and it sends out impulses like these,” you punctuate your point with another swell through his circuits. “Can make any gathered information into an over-centre switch. You can attach it to fancy toys, but most just attach it to sensors they already have in data spikes, radar dishes, hands, etc”

Hands. He’s unable to think clearly in the rush of sensations but in the flood of input his circuits clutch tightly to this information. Cassian’s hands dancing with purpose over spacecraft controls. Your hands twisting codes and wires into something he’d never felt before. Cassian’s fists, white knuckles gripping the stocks of blaster pistols. Your fingers slipping past your pursed lips. The electrical flood swells to a plateau, drowning out any and all input and external information. For a moment he floats in a swirling storm of incomprehensible power surges and static fuzz and then in an instant the entire storm is cut off. 

K2SO’s faculties flicker for a moment and when he is certain everything is back online he feels entirely clear like he did before the strange new sensations. Better than before, actually. There’s an increased clarity. Images are sharper, more in focus. His processing capabilities are slightly faster. He notices the way you’re staring at him, clearly proud of your work but also flushed, pupils dilated. He feels the elevated thump of your heartbeat rushing through your fingertips, blood pulsing past his newly revitalized pressure sensors. The likelihood that you desire to repeat this process for your own personal satisfaction is high. It’s very high.

“Well?” your voice is shakier than it was before, or maybe he’s just able to notice slight tremors that were always there. “What do you think?”

“I think, I think the stimulation box would be a very good idea.”

[...]

You’ve installed the modifications and replaced the covering on his chest when he makes his next move. Fingers delicately entwining themselves in your hair as he pulls you close and tells you he’d like to take these new features for a test run. Your heart beats wildly but he’s being unbelievably gentle, much more gentle than you would have thought an enforcer droid could be. His hands explore your body, drawing subtle patterns over your skin and somehow raising goosebumps even in the balmy jungle heat.

His touch grows rougher as the static overtakes his circuits and the feedback loops amplify the sensations of the heat of your skin and the pressure of his touch. His hands stutter and grip you tightly, drawing moans from your lips. The moans are stifled by his fingers slipping into your mouth. You wrap your lips around them and suck until he shudders and withdraws.

You direct him in how to touch you to get the same response you pulled from him. That’s what he wants, after all, a sort of claim to the same power that you hold. He’s a fast learner with all the finesse and precision of a carefully calibrated machine. Between your instructions, his steady hands, and the soft vibrations of his internal mechanisms he soon has you crying out, pulsing around him with tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He shudders soon after and the lights of his eyes go dark for the over-centre reset.

“How long before I can go again?”

Your eyes go wide as you realize exactly what he's thinking. Your body is tense and exhausted, chest heaving, skin already sticky with sweat. “I didn't…” your voice is hoarse so you clear your throat and begin again “I don't usually program in a refractory period unless it's specifically asked for “

He looks at you sprawled out in front of him, just stares for a long moment as if making some extensive calculations based on this new information. When he speaks there's a smug satisfaction in his voice. “You're in for a long night, mechanic.”


End file.
